


The One Where Castiel Impersonates A Police Officer

by hollyblue2



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Friends (TV) Fusion, Bookstore owner Cas, Cop!Dean, First Meeting, Fluff, M/M, detective!dean, meet awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-19 18:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19978642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyblue2/pseuds/hollyblue2
Summary: When Castiel finds a police badge lost under the cushions of his local coffee shop, something compels him not to take it back right away and instead he uses it to make his good deeds which includes asking a man to move his car - a man that is, in fact, a police officer.





	The One Where Castiel Impersonates A Police Officer

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! 
> 
> This is my entry to the SPN Trope Celebration Challenge! I actually had a lot of fun writing this and I also have a wonderful artist [@love-nakamura](https://love-nakamura.tumblr.com) and you can find their art masterpost right [here](https://love-nakamura.tumblr.com/post/186701961759/)
> 
> Beta'd by Serenity (

Castiel is tucked away in one corner of the coffee shop he frequents every lunch time. This isn’t his usual spot, having been stuck at his own store with a customer longer than he intended before he closed for a half hour. Another pair of customers have taken his usual space instead, both in suits with their briefcases at their heels, talking quietly to one another. His co-worker, Charlie, uses her time to have lunch with her girlfriend in the park just down the road while Castiel spends his time alone to de-stress from dealing with people.

His usual spot in Mugs Coffee gives him a good place to observe the patrons as it’s next to the large window, with one chair facing the rest of the tables. He liked to people watch, they were interesting and he picked up people’s habits quickly on his visits.

There is one woman who always picks the glacé cherry from the top of her Bakewell tart, setting it aside and then eating it after drinking her coffee. A man who always goes to the counter, deliberates everything they have but always goes for the pie of the day, and then there’s a man who he often catches putting six sugars into his coffee – the one time he’d been caught staring the guy only put four out of embarrassment. He wonders if people notice habits about himself, and he considers it: he always hangs his coat on the back of the chair before ordering, and he always has the weekly coffee special - except on a Thursday when he has a cup of Earl Grey. It seems he’s more particular than he imagined.

Today’s spot leaves him little view to people watch, he has his back to most of the room, but he does find some comfort in having his own little corner. Instead of wasting time staring at the wall, Castiel pulls his notebook from his satchel, turning to where he last left off with his book.

He’s been writing it for nearly six years and hasn’t got past much more than fantastical jargon and world building with snippets of what will one day be a novel, but it’s a world he loves and he enjoys transporting himself there any time he has a spare few minutes. Working at his bookstore leaves him plenty of time to write, but he often spends more time reading and rereading books instead of writing. Perhaps one day it will be complete.

He scribbles down words and ideas, sipping his coffee – today’s is salted caramel – and taking an occasional bite of his chocolate cookie. Soon enough, his phone his buzzing in his pocket, an alarm set for him to go back to the shop. Without it, he’d stay in the coffee shop for hours, just minding his own business.

Castiel slurps the rest of his coffee, now a little tepid, and wraps his half a cookie in a napkin and stashes it in his bag. He’ll eat the rest of it later when the afternoon rush has dispersed. He doesn’t get a lot of customers these days, not since people started buying e-books over paper and hardbacks, but he still cherishes those that do visit. He does a reading session on a Monday for the local children, inviting them and their parents in for an afternoon of reading aloud from whatever book he chooses that week.

Wednesday afternoons usually see a couple of students in, some buying or renting books from his selection of college course books. He likes to think that he sells them at a reasonable price and it’s often been noted that his prices are fair in comparison to some of the larger chains. He’s generous enough to help out those who can’t afford their college books, too - by renting them out. It’s perhaps not the most cost-effective method, but he’s not going to stunt someone’s education, that they’ve no doubt worked hard at.

Castiel slides out of the bench seat, accidentally dragging the decorative cushion with him. He bends to pick it up when he spots something that had been hiding behind it. It’s a black wallet, and he frowns, looking around quickly before opening it up. To his surprise, he finds that it’s not a wallet, but instead a Lawrence Police Department badge. The picture is lightly water damaged, but he can tell that the man in the photo looks young. Castiel pockets the badge quickly, trying not to look suspicious before donning his trenchcoat and wrapping his scarf around his neck.

He needs to get back to work; he doesn’t have time to go to the police station now, it’s across town and he would have to catch the bus. Instead, he walks swiftly back to his bookstore, the police badge like a lead weight in his pocket and he fumbles it, the black leather surrounding it is soft and worn, so whoever it belongs to must have been in the police force for a while.

Castiel makes it back to Turning Pages quicker than usual and he certainly feels it, shins aching, and slightly out of breath. He sheds his coat, putting it on the hat stand and draping his scarf over the top.

Settling himself behind the register for an extra moment, he finds his foot tapping against the wooden ledge of files, beating an unsteady rhythm into the quiet of the shop. He scans the room. The shelves are all in order - as they should be, since he spent his morning rearranging everything - so he can’t even distract himself with that. He drags out the accounting records for the month and begins to go through them, hoping the numbers will make more sense than the incomprehensible thoughts in his head do. He doesn’t appreciate being called a thief by his own mind, even though he knows perfectly well that he has every intention of giving it back. He just couldn’t keep the shop closed for any longer than he already did.

A bluster of nearly-spring cold flushes through the shop and he’s relieved to see Charlie. She’s unwrapping her scarf and tugging off her Hufflepuff hat. Both he and Charlie have similar colour hats, Cas’ being black and yellow for the bees he adores, his sister made the hat for him a couple of years ago and he’s barely stopped wearing it since. Charlie’s hat is gold and black – or so she says – and the design is very similar. More than once they’ve confused their headwear and it makes for a giggle the next day, Castiel considers himself a Slytherin after all.

“Charlie!” Cas practically yelps, the exclamation is slightly more panicked than he was meaning but Charlie spins round to him nonetheless with a smile, eyes wide.

“Cas!” she says in a matched tone.

Castiel fishes into his coat pocket and pulls out the badge, flashing it – upside down – at Charlie.

“Is there a warrant out for my arrest, officer?” Charlie teases and Castiel scowls at her.

“I found it,” he says, flipping it shut. “It was behind one of the cushions at Mugs.”

“And you didn’t think to take it back to the police station?” She asks, accusingly. She’s not mad at him, Cas has seen Charlie mad and this certainly isn’t it.

“I’m going to, I just didn’t have time to go after lunch.”

“Go now, there’ll be a bus across town from the stop near here sooner or later, it’s pretty frequent.”

“I can’t just leave the shop,” Castiel protests. He may be the boss, but he has a responsibility to keep the shop open for business. Of course, Charlie could keep it open by herself, she’s been here almost as long as the place has been open, give or take a couple of weeks. She’s more than competent. Guilt is warring Castiel both ways, from keeping the badge, and the potential of leaving the shop. He’s never left in the middle of his shift for anything, with the exception of his mother’s death three years ago and those were unusual circumstances. He’s not about to abandon his business for something that could wait a couple of hours. Besides, the police station will still be open when he and Charlie close the shop.

“Fine.” Charlie gives up, and maybe Castiel is being unusually stubborn, but the anxiety is getting at him. He can calm himself down and go right after work.

Charlie goes into the stock room instead. Castiel can hear her opening up a new order box of books and he hopes they’re the ones for the high school reading group.

The rest of his shift goes by slower than ever. Missouri, who comes in twice a month for a new book, by recommendation of Cas or Charlie, seems to chat forever and Castiel can’t help but watch the clock. It doesn’t escape her notice and she questions him about it, he brushes off her questions without revealing truly what was going on. After all, it’s not _that_ big of a deal and Cas is sure that he, and everyone else, is making it bigger than it needs to be. When she leaves, Castiel breathes a sigh of relief. Missouri is one of his favourite customers, but today was just a little too much for him to handle on top of everything else, and he promises himself to make it up to her next time.

Charlie leaves first, calling back that she’ll see him at game night, and he watches her meet her girlfriend out the shop window, as he counts the last of the money to put in the safe overnight. He sees them hold hands, easy and carefree, and wishes that he had something like that. It’s been a long time since Castiel last went on a date, and even longer since he had someone to call a partner.

He’s glad Charlie reminded him it was game night, he needs to clean his apartment and set up the table for it. He still has plenty of time, there’s not a lot of cleaning to do and the table will only take a couple minutes to do. He certainly has time to head to the police station before he goes home.

Castiel quickly counts the rest of the money, with Missouri’s visit and the new books for the high school, they’ve done well today which puts a smile on his face. He opens the safe and stashes the money inside the envelope they keep inside, before locking it up and heading back out into the shop. He finishes the rest of his duties, closing down the register, switching off the lights and turning on the display lights for the evening.

The police badge in his pocket still feels like a dead weight, but Castiel just sighs, grumbling to himself before heading out the door into the cool evening. It’s still light outside and he repositions his satchel on his shoulder before heading in the direction of the bus stop.

On second thoughts, he checks his watch, there’s still a few hours until the coffee shop closes so a takeaway coffee for his journey won’t do any harm. Maybe he’ll even have one of the indulgent chocolate brownie hot chocolates, it’ll certainly keep him going until he eats that evening.

He weaves between the evening traffic to get across the street, not bothering with the crossing just a few yards away. Before he can get to the coffee shop, however, he watches a woman in front of him light up a cigarette stood next to a tree when there’s a clearly signposted smoking area right in front of her.

“Excuse me, there’s a designated smoking area just there, you’re right next to a door,” he tells her, heart hammering in his chest. The woman whirls around and gives him a disproved look.

“And who are you to tell me what to do?” she grumbles, taking a recalcitrant drag and blowing the smoke far too close to Castiel’s face. Why are people so terrible?

Castiel remembers then that he has the police badge in his pocket and he pulls it out, flipping it open and showing the woman. “Lawrence P.D., thank you very much. Now if you would kindly move yourself to the right area.”

“Sorry, officer.” She turns sheepish, moving away slowly towards the smoking area.

Something buzzes inside him afterwards, and where he expects overwhelming anxiety, he feels... power. He can certainly see the appeal of being a police officer now. He smiles inwardly, feeling like he shouldn’t be too brazen about this newfound ability that having a cop badge gives him.

It’s a whiplash thought process, just a few minutes ago he was desperate to have it out of his hands and now he’s considering keeping it for just a bit longer?

This is a felony, he reminds himself, he could go to jail for this. For a hit moment, he thinks about himself in an orange jumpsuit and then the fears of other inmates ganging up on him overtakes everything. He can hold his own, for sure, but he highly doubts he would survive in prison.

Oh god, what has he done?

Then again... it’s not as if anyone will know. He’ll just keep it for the evening and drop it off tomorrow.

He sucks at lying, but he’ll tell Charlie that he gave it back and just get up earlier for work to make it across town to the station.

Castiel gives himself a nod, decision made. Keep the badge, enjoy the few hours of being a new version of Castiel and drop it off in the morning.

Which, in that case, he certainly deserves the hot beverage he came over here for, maybe he’ll switch his order to a coffee and a doughnut in stereotypical police fashion. But then again, that brownie hot chocolate did sound really good.

He’ll make his mind up in the queue.

Castiel walks towards the coffee shop, just around the slight bend in the road towards the dead end of the street. There’s a walkway into the park which he frequents during the summer, but bollards prevent cars from going down that way and right outside the coffee shop is the most inconveniently parked car. It’s a behemoth of a car, black with chrome along the bumper, it’s old or as he’s sure the owner would insist, ‘a classic’.

While he can appreciate cars, this one has been resolutely struck off his metaphorical list of cool.

He looks around, one hand on the badge in his pocket, in search of the owner. A man steps from behind the car and Castiel rounds on him.

“Excuse me, is this your car?” He asks, and the guy leans nonchalantly against his car like he has no time for Cas – no time for a cop!

“Yeah.” The guy just doesn’t care, if he thought the smoking woman was bad, this man has nothing on her.

He presses on. “Well I don't think it's a good idea to park here, you're blocking the entrance.”

“Don't worry about it. It's not a problem,” he says, and rummages in his pocket for something, then pulls out his phone.

“Well, it is a problem for me, which means it's a problem for you.” The words have a note of confidence to them which will hopefully move this asshat on. “I'm a cop.” Castiel produces his – _the_ – badge, flipping it open and for the first time since he’s had it, it does so like he’s a natural. He suppresses a little beat of joy and looks back at him.

Then the man reaches into his car, and for a split second Castiel panics, expecting to have a gun pulled on him. He’s not prepared for this, this was a bad idea. Pulling his arm out of the window, he produces a detachable red light and sets it on top of the roof. “So am I!”

Oh god. This is bad. This is worse than having a gun pulled on him. “Oh.” It’s all he can manage before his brain catches up, trying his best to think of a way to get out of it. He’s a writer – kind of – what would his characters do. His characters are elves and they’d probably just draw their bow and-

Not helping.

He’s a cop, so therefore he knows the rules, this is his cue to leave and walk away before he says something he shouldn’t.

“Oh, okay, so you're an officer which means you can park anywhere, which of course I know, because I'm also an officer.” He offers a small smile, but he’s not entirely sure the police officer buys it. “So, keep up the good work.” Castiel wraps his hand around the strap of his satchel and turns to walk away, he wants to be as far away from this situation as possible now.

“Hey, wait a second!” The officer calls after him. Oh, god. “So, what precinct are you with?”

“I-I'm with the, umm, the 57th,” he manages eventually. He wishes he were both better at lying and thinking on his feet.

“Oh, I know a guy in homicide up there.” Of course he does.

“I'm in Vice,” he tries to detract and, in hindsight, foolishly adds, “I’m undercover.”

The officer’s eyebrow raises, but he doesn’t comment on his story. “Who else is in Vice up there?”

“Umm, do you know, umm… Spears?” He answers quickly, throwing in the first name he can think of.

“Spears? No, I don't think so.” Thank goodness for that.

“Yeah, big guy, mostly bald.” His mouth is running a wreck before he can even think about it.

“No, I don't know him.”

Castiel shrugs at that and then turns away again, before realising that the guy might check. “Don’t try to call him or anything, he's not there, he's out. His umm, his partner just died.”

“Wow. Umm, tell Spears I'm real sorry for his loss.”

“I-I sure will, take care.” For real this time, Castiel turns to leave, as far away from the coffee shop as he can, the coffee can wait. Perhaps he’ll just make himself a nice cup of tea when he gets home instead, he certainly needs it.

“Hey, by the way,” the police officer follows him the short few steps he’s taken. “I'm sure Spears is gonna be all right. I heard that guy’s got a great voice. I just gotta know, though, where did you find my badge?”

 _Shit_.

“What?” Castiel panics.

“You can return my police badge now, if you like.”

“Oh.” Castiel tosses the badge at the officer and takes off down the road towards his apartment. Blood pounds in ears, heart thudding against his chest. He won’t be able to run the whole distance, his satchel knocking against his leg uncomfortably and his coat restricting much of his movement, but he can gain some distance. A quick glance behind him tells him that the officer isn’t following, so he slows to a brisk walk, his shins quickly aching until he resumes a slower pace.

His apartment is still a few blocks away and it can’t come fast enough. He rudely pushes past people on the sidewalk, where he’s usually the one to step out of the way. More than once he forgets to apologise in his haste, making up for it when he trips over a pushchair and stumbles.

Finally, his building is in view and the sight of home has never been more welcome. He scrambles up the stairway to the fourth floor and locks himself into his apartment, leaning against the door.

It takes far too long to calm down, his shoulders remain tense for so long they begin to ache, and a stress headache quickly begins to form. He sheds his coat, jacket and shoes before boiling some water on the stove for a cup of Earl Grey. Then he sits, cross-legged, in the middle of the living space, breathing deeply with his cup resting on one knee.

Perhaps he was stupid. Perhaps he let the power trip overtake him. Perhaps he should have listened to Charlie after lunch and taken the badge straight to the station. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps...

Castiel shuts off his thoughts, looking at his watch. It’s not long until people will start to arrive so he needs to start getting things ready. He hopes with company and when the games night begins, he’ll be able to forget about the events of his afternoon.

He takes a sip of his tea, feeling the warmth and citrus notes relax him and closes his eyes, making a mental list of what he needs to do for the evening ahead.

Most of the food is easy to sort, there’s just the bolognese to reheat when people arrive. The chips and dips can go out on the table after they all eat dinner. The games are in the storage box in the living room and he plans on pulling out Monopoly, not because he has a penchant for winning, but because they haven’t played in a while (probably _because_ he has an uncanny knack for winning).

List made, Castiel busies himself with preparations and, with perfect timing as he’s taking garlic bread out of the oven, there’s a knock on the door.

“It’s open!” He calls and sets the hot tray on the stove top. Removing the oven gloves, Castiel turns to see that Charlie, Gabriel and Alfie are all here at once. Charlie has a few more games in her hands and Gabriel has a bag of food, as usual, with Alfie carrying an assortment of drinks.

“Hey, Cas,” Charlie greets, setting the games on top of the Monopoly box.

“Take a seat, dinner’s ready.”

Castiel brings over two bowls at once of steaming pasta bolognese and then the others with the garlic bread and they quickly tuck in, making small conversation about their days.

“Did you manage to get to the police station?” Charlie asks when there’s a light lull in the conversation and Castiel swallows his mouthful, nearly choking.

“I got distracted,” he admits, and while it’s not the truth, it’s not exactly a lie either.

“You still have it?” Alfie chirps, turning his head sharply to him. All eyes are on him and it makes him uncomfortable.

“Well, there was a woman smoking in front of a doorway—”

“You _used_ the badge?” Gabriel scoffs, seemingly amazed.

“Yes.”

“Damn, Cassie, look at you, being all rebellious.”

“Shut up.”

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” Alfie’s eyes are narrowed at him, like he’s trying to work his way through Cas’ lies. It’s too easy to give up the truth, however, and he sighs.

“There may or may not have been a cop that saw me.”

“Cas!”

“He was hot at least,” he remembers, and he had been, green eyes, dark blond hair and a somewhat oversized leather jacket that was quiet obviously an heirloom or a hand-me-down. The jacket had hung off him in such a way that made him seem both intimidating and a little younger than Cas guessed he was, and he could admit, despite the jibes he’d thought about the man’s car, it was nice – sleek, powerful.

“You were so freaked out about it,” Charlie says with a frown.

“I was, and I swear that badge gives you magic powers because as soon as I had it in my hand, talking to the woman was easy, and she went right over to the smoking area, then talking the cop, who I didn’t know was a cop, and lying about being an officer when he revealed himself…”

“You suck at lying,” Charlie says flatly and Castiel scowls at her for interrupting. “Hey, just saying—”

“I _know_ I suck at lying, and I still sucked when I was talking to that cop, but at least I managed it. Anyway, he asked me where I found his badge, I panicked, threw it at him and ran home.”

“You ran?” Alfie says, shock clear on his face. It’s not like he doesn’t run, he goes out three times a week before he goes to work. He has to run, in order to keep up his daily coffee shop visit. The cakes he eats are hard earned.

“Yes?”

“The fifteen blocks home, you ran in your flapping trenchcoat?” Charlie tries to confirm, and Castiel can tell she’s trying to imagine him skipping between people. Having been the one doing the running in the trenchcoat, he knows it probably wasn’t the most attractive look.

“It was decidedly more uncomfortable than shorts, but I walked most of it when I was out of sight, he didn’t seem to follow me.”

“Rebellious, like the good old days!” Gabriel chimes in and Castiel shoots him a glare, shutting him up quickly. Gabriel is his oldest friend and when they were growing up, they often got in a lot of trouble together, Castiel more so than Gabriel, just because he got caught and Gabriel rarely did. He doesn’t need his past dragged up and laid out to his new friends, who had clearly thought up until now that he’s the epitome of innocence.

“Let’s just play, after this conversation you all need to be bankrupted my me and my ten hotels anyway.” Castiel says, and gets up to grab the game box, putting it in the centre of the table.

Everyone chips in with setting up, there’s a brief argument over the who gets to be the dog, but Alfie concedes to Gabriel and chooses the boot instead. Castiel is, as always, the battleship and Charlie takes the race car.

Gabriel takes his position as Banker and goes first. Idle chatter and teasing keep the game going for about half an hour when there’s a knock on the door.

Cas checks his watch. “I’m not expecting anyone, not at this time.” He frowns but sets the money he was sorting down and heads to the door. “Who is it?” he asks.

“Lawrence P.D.!”

“Oh my god,” Alfie hisses from the table.

“Cas!” Charlie says, worry in her tone.

“I’m looking for Castiel Novak!” The voice on the other side of the door, Cas knows it.

“He found me. It’s the cop from earlier.” Castiel’s stomach turns as he reaches the door. He knows he was in the wrong so he accepts his fate, it’s not as if he _didn’t_ give it back, so maybe there’s a loophole he can work with.

Castiel opens the door, revealing the same cop from earlier, and he steps backwards to let him inside. “Okay, you can arrest me. Fine.” He holds his hands out for handcuffs. “But I doubt it will go any further than a misdemeanour, and you know it.” His brazenness is back and he’s thankful for it, reminding him of his younger years.

“Yeah, but I kinda don't have a choice, it's my job. I mean, you understand right?” He says, brow furrowed a little.

“I understand. As long as you realise that I'm going to call my lawyer, and he'll make you look like a idiot at the arraignment.” Castiel crosses his arms once he realises that the cop isn’t going to handcuff him.

The police officer rubs a hand over his neck, clearly having underestimated Cas. Dean seems amused by Castiel’s defiance, all of which he was lacking the other day, and Castiel watches as a playful twinkle shines in Dean’s eye and the corner of his mouth quirks up.

“I don't like looking like an idiot,” he says. “Y'know what? How about, I don't arrest you today. Maybe I came by and you weren't here.”

“I’m listening.”

“And what if I come back tomorrow and we go out to dinner instead? No court, no handcuffs… well, we don’t have to rule those out completely,” The detective flushes, shoving his hands in his pockets. This is definitely far from what he expected when he showed up at the door.

“Me?”

“Yeah. Ever since you flashed my badge at me, I kinda can't stop thinking about you. You’re pretty handsome for a thief.”

Castiel splutters. “I object to being called a thief,” he tells him, sternly, but softens to say, “Can’t say I saw that coming. You're-you're asking me out?” He asks, to clarify because no one ever asks Cas out, he’s just a bookish loner when it comes to dating.

“I probably could’ve done better, but your friends keep staring at me.” Castiel watches as he looks over to them and Castiel flicks his gaze too, seeing them turn back to one other in feigned conversation.

“Yes,” he says, butterflies roaring in his stomach. “I'd like to go out with you, Officer—”

“Dean,” he says, a small smile creeping on his face, replacing the anticipation.

“So, it's a date?”

“Yes,” he agrees and smiles. “I do have one question…”

“What’s that?”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“Well, once I had my badge back, I was able to flash it at the nice barista. He/she was only too eager to provide me with your name and credit card information from your previous orders. After that, it was easy. There aren’t too many Castiel Novak’s in Lawrence, Kansas, you know.”

“Impressive.”

“Not as impressive as you. I gotta tell you, I looked at your record and you've done some pretty weird stuff.”

Castiel blanches. He hears all his friends whirl round to hear more about his _weird stuff_. He quickly shuts him down.

“Yeah, we'll talk at dinner.”

“Okay,” Dean grins, and his already fluttered heart melts. He has a handsome smile and it makes his green eyes light up. Their business concluded, he begins to leave before a thought seems to strike him. “So, I'll come by tomorrow at seven and pick you up?

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“Great! And don't worry, I'm not just gonna take you out for donuts,” he winks, and the door closes behind him.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Castiel says to the closed door, where his trenchcoat is swinging slightly.

“Holy shit, Cassie has a date!” Gabriel coos from the table.

“Holy shit, I have a date,” Castiel echoes, much quieter. He grins at closed door.

Impulse grips Castiel suddenly and he throws open the door once again, stepping out into the artificially lit hallway. Dean’s still there, loitering and looks up when Castiel gets close. He looks shocked that Castiel caught him still out here, but his expression softens as they move toe-to-toe.

Dean smells like cologne, as if he came prepared to Castiel’s apartment. He’s only barely an inch taller than Castiel but he tilts his head up, inviting Dean in and looking into his eyes. Up close, Castiel can recognise that they’re greener than any eyes he’s seen before, flecked with tiny bits of hazel, and they’re trained on him.

A small smile has crept onto Dean’s lips as they trade the air in the small space between them. Neither of them say a word, but they both understand what’s about to happen.

Dean’s lips are soft as they practically caress his own and he shivers as Dean’s hands lay gently against his hips.

They break apart but Dean’s hand is still on his waist and Castiel is still vibrating inside.

“That was...” Dean’s voice cracks a little, as he tries to gather himself. Castiel waits patiently for the next word, still leaning in close with his hands on Dean’s waist. “Perfect.”

“It was,” Castiel agrees.

The kiss is a better indulgence than he was going to treat himself to earlier at Mugs. With any luck, dinner would be great, and they’d be able to partake in many more indulgences.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> Don't forget to go and give love-nakamura some love for [the art](https://love-nakamura.tumblr.com/post/186701961759/)!!


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